Frank Sinatra – Strangers In The Night

Called It A Piece Of Shit Then Never Sang It On Television

Released on May second, 1966, from his album of the same name, Frank Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night” topped both the Billboard Hot 100 and Easy Listening charts simultaneously while reaching number one in the UK for three weeks, selling over two million copies worldwide and becoming his most commercially successful single in eleven years. The track won Grammy Awards for Record of the Year and Best Male Pop Vocal Performance while sweeping the Golden Globes for best original song. What most fans don’t know is that Sinatra called it “a piece of shit” the moment he saw the sheet music and announced “I don’t want to sing this.” He recorded it anyway on April eleventh, 1966, rushed into a one-hour session that was originally booked for Dean Martin, finished by nine PM, and spent the rest of his career despising his biggest comeback hit. During live performances, he’d tell audiences “Here’s a song I cannot stand, but what the hell” before changing the lyrics to “love was just a glance away, a lonesome pair of pants away.” The famous “dooby-dooby-doo” scat ending was his throwaway improvisation on take two, broadcasting his contempt in every syllable, yet that ad-lib became so iconic it inspired the name Scooby-Doo three years later.

The single entered the Billboard Hot 100 on May seventh and climbed to number one on July second where it remained for one week before The Beatles’ “Paperback Writer” reclaimed the top spot. It spent fifteen weeks on the chart total and dominated the Easy Listening chart for seven consecutive weeks. In the UK, it held number one for three weeks and spent twenty weeks total on the chart. The track topped charts in Australia, Argentina, Austria, Belgium, France, Ireland, and South Africa. By October, Mo Ostin of Reprise told Billboard that Sinatra had never been this hot, noting the single sold sixty thousand copies in Brazil and six hundred thousand in France alone. Combined sales exceeded one million in the US and UK with over two million worldwide. The parent album became Sinatra’s most commercially successful, spending weeks at number one and earning platinum certification as his only solo studio album besides Christmas releases to achieve that distinction. The success arrived just as rock music dominated radio, making Sinatra’s triumph particularly sweet for traditional pop advocates who’d been pronouncing his career dead since Elvis emerged a decade earlier.

Bert Kaempfert composed the melody under the title “Beddy Bye” for the 1966 film A Man Could Get Killed, starring James Garner and Melina Mercouri. Music publisher Hal Fine played tracks from the film score for producer Jimmy Bowen, who indicated Sinatra would record it if lyrics were written. Two sets of lyrics were produced but both rejected before Charles Singleton and Eddie Snyder crafted acceptable words inspired by Garner and Mercouri exchanging glances in a bar scene. However, Bowen remained unaware Fine had given the song to Jack Jones and others. When Bowen discovered Jones would release his version within days, he frantically contacted Ernie Freeman to arrange something immediately for Sinatra. Bowen had already booked United Western Recorders on Sunset Boulevard for seven to ten PM on April eleventh with a thirty-five-piece orchestra for Dean Martin, who was scheduled to record “Let the Good Times In.” Bowen asked Martin to arrive an hour later since Martin recorded quickly, and squeezed Sinatra into the first hour. The rush recording featured Hal Blaine reusing his “Be My Baby” drum beat in slower arrangement, Glen Campbell among four guitarists, and Freeman conducting.

Sinatra arrived at eight PM and completed recording by nine PM despite struggling with a mid-song key change. According to Bowen, he resolved this by having Sinatra sing until just before the key change, then stopped and gave him a bell tone so he could sing the next section in the new key. Bowen spent the night splicing the two parts together before mixing and mastering. The scat improvisation on take two became the most memorable element, with Sinatra’s “dooby-dooby-doo” fadeout capturing something simultaneously dismissive and iconic. Glen Campbell later recalled they rehearsed fifteen times before Sinatra arrived, then did just three takes before Bowen stopped the session and selected the first take. Campbell was one of four guitarists and the only one using a capo, playing E-flat. According to drummer Hal Blaine, the atmosphere was tense, with Sinatra reportedly calling Campbell a homophobic slur during recording because he didn’t like how Campbell stared at him. Campbell was simply fascinated by Sinatra, trying to understand the man’s talent. The hurried session captured Sinatra’s professionalism overriding his personal distaste, delivering a technically flawless vocal on material he genuinely despised.

Strangers in the Night marked Sinatra’s return to number one on album charts and his final collaboration with arranger Nelson Riddle. The album peaked at number one and spent thirty-three weeks on the Billboard 200, earning gold certification within weeks and eventually platinum status. Beyond the title track, the album featured “Summer Wind,” which became another Sinatra standard despite his lukewarm feelings toward the newer pop material. The album bridged classic jazz-oriented big band with contemporary pop, demonstrating Sinatra’s ability to adapt without abandoning his signature style. Critics praised his vocal control and phrasing while questioning whether he should be recording pop material at age fifty. Reprise general manager Mo Ostin attributed strong sales partly to Sinatra’s reduced nightclub activity due to film commitments, with albums filling the void for fans unable to see him live. The album consolidated the comeback initiated by September of My Years in 1965 and positioned Sinatra for another decade of relevance despite rock music’s dominance.

CBS television executive Fred Silverman listened to the song in 1968 during a red-eye flight to a development meeting and was inspired by Sinatra’s scat ending. Animator Iwao Takamoto later said he got the name Scooby-Doo from those “dooby-dooby-doo” syllables, with the character debuting in 1969’s Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? The song appeared prominently in License to Drive during the eighties, where Corey Haim and Heather Graham danced on a Cadillac hood. Chevy Chase parodied it in Fletch, singing “strangers in the night, exchanging clothing.” Around two hundred cover versions emerged by 1967, with Kaempfert himself releasing an instrumental that charted. Joe Smith of Reprise Records recalled Sinatra saying “He thought it was about two fags in a bar,” explaining Dean Martin’s joke that he’d turned down the song because “it’s about two faggots.” During a 1975 Jerusalem concert, Sinatra introduced it saying “Here’s a song I cannot stand, but what the hell,” then sang about “a lonesome pair of pants away” instead of “a warm embracing dance away.” Despite winning two Grammys and a Golden Globe, Sinatra refused to perform it on television specials throughout the late sixties, his contempt never softening even as royalties accumulated.

“Strangers in the Night” endures as popular music’s greatest illustration of how artists sometimes succeed despite themselves, proving that professional excellence can override personal disgust to create timeless work. Sinatra’s quote calling it “the worst fucking song I have ever heard” demonstrates how wrong even legends can be about their own material, or alternatively, how commercial success and artistic satisfaction exist independently. The fact that his throwaway “dooby-dooby-doo” improvisation inspired Scooby-Doo captures the beautiful randomness of cultural cross-pollination—a contemptuous scat becoming children’s television history. What began as Bert Kaempfert’s instrumental film score transformed into Sinatra’s biggest comeback hit through rushed recording, label politics, and one singer’s ability to deliver perfection while loathing every word. Sixty years later, those opening strings and Sinatra’s weathered baritone remain synonymous with sophisticated romance, testament to how great performances transcend the performer’s intentions and how sometimes the songs we hate most become the ones that define us.